


under the skin

by hellodeer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellodeer/pseuds/hellodeer
Summary: Yuuri and Viktor walk home together when they have the same ice time, Yurio often tagging along to have dinner with them. It’s always the three of them; rarely Viktor and Yurio, but never Yuuri and Yurio, at least not like this, on a quiet walk where their breathes fog up in the air and Yurio rushes slightly head, even if they’re going to Yuuri’s place.





	under the skin

When November rolls arounds, the streets of St. Petersburg become wet and cold. The lights from the lampposts reflect on the snow-licked pavement; Yuuri steps carefully on the cobblestones to avoid slipping and falling. It’s colder than Detroit, colder even than Hasetsu, the wind cutting his exposed face and ice melting into his bones.

He misses Viktor. It’s silly, because they were together just yesterday, but since Viktor stood buck-naked in front of Yuuri and announced he had a new coach, they have not been apart for more than two days. It scares Yuuri how _not_ scared he is of how much he wants Viktor, wants to talk to him and touch him and go home to their — _their_ — apartment to find Viktor wearing mismatched Prada socks and at least two scarves.

Yurio would call him pathetic if he knew.

“Stop moping,” is what he actually says, frowning down at Yuuri. “He’s barely been gone a day.”

With a sigh, Yuuri finishes lacing his skates and gets up. He’s taller than Yurio like this, and the teenager _tsk_ s angrily at the need to look up at him. A sudden wave of fondness rushes through Yuuri, now long accustomed to Yurio’s outbursts.

“I know,” he says. He wants to ruffle Yurio’s hair, but he knows Yurio would _hate_ it. “But you know how awful it is to miss someone. Like you miss your grandfather or your cat when you’re away.”

Yurio frowns deeper, narrows his eyes, then turns his back on Yuuri to jump quad Salchows on the other side of rink. He remains there for the rest of practice.

In Yakov’s absence, his right-hand man — a tall, thin grandfather with a headful of hair — oversees their training, and Lilia comes especially for Yurio. Yuuri is not-so-secretly terrified of her, barely able to meet her eyes and mumble _Privet, Lilia Baranovskaya_ , even if Viktor has tried to reassure him many times that Lilia actually likes him.

He watches Lilia and Yurio interact for a little while, and Georgi and Mila, and the other people whose names he’s ashamed to admit he forgets. But mostly he skates, spins and jumps that feel rushed and incomplete, and he ends the day so frustrated with himself he skates figure eights until he calms down.

It’s almost seven by the time Yuuri moves to the locker room. He takes a quick shower, five timed minutes before the water turns unforgivably icy. Then he grabs his bag and is almost out of the Sports Champions Club when he finds Yurio sitting on one of the uncomfortable couches at the entrance hall.

“Took you long enough,” is all he says before walking to the door, holding it open for Yuuri.

The apartment is two blocks away from the rink. Yuuri and Viktor walk home together when they have the same ice time, Yurio often tagging along to have dinner with them. It’s always the three of them; rarely Viktor and Yurio, but never Yuuri and Yurio, at least not like this, on a quiet walk where their breathes fog up in the air and Yurio rushes slightly head, even if they’re going to Yuuri’s place.

Makkachin barks the minute the elevator doors open. From the corner of his eyes, Yuuri can see Yurio smile fondly. He smiles himself when he opens the door and Makkachin jumps on him, tail wagging and drooling all over his clothes.

“Down, girl,” he says, but buries his face on her soft neck anyway.

He closes the door as soon as Yurio is inside, shutting the cold out. It’s blessedly warm in the apartment, courtesy of a central heater and heated floors.

“What do you want for dinner, Yurio?” he asks, hanging his coat by the door. He leaves his shoes and bag by the entrance; later, he’ll put his dirty practice clothes on the washing machine, Yurio’s too if he wants. “Chicken or fish?”

“Chicken, please,” Yurio says from where he’s rubbing Makkachin’s belly.

So Yuuri heats up the chicken Viktor’s nutritionist made for the week. She complained a lot when Yuuri moved in, groaning about how she needed to triple all portions now, because Viktor had brought home not one, but _two_ Yuris. Yuuri won her over with a quiet appreciation for her food and extremely good manners, while Yurio happened to look a lot like her grandson.

With the food in the microwave, Yuuri doesn’t even need to ask for Yurio’s help setting the table: he just walks into the kitchen and opens the cupboards where he knows they keep the plates, Makkachin following behind. Yuuri grabs placemats and enough silverware for three out of habit, blushes furiously when Yurio notices and rolls his eyes. Together they arrange everything on the table, leaving Viktor’s usual seat empty and untouched.

“Hey,” Yuuri begins. There’s still five minutes to go before the food is ready. “Laundry?”

Yurio shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, and grabs both their bags from the floor.

The washing machine is in the kitchen too, which confused and surprised Yuuri at first, one of many cultural differences he’s still not sure will ever stop feeling weird to him. While they’re loading the machine, Viktor calls. Yuuri’s heart races just at seeing his name on the phone screen. 

They talk about how much they miss each other, ridiculously sweet and impossibly in love. Yurio, crouched on the floor pushing dirty socks into the washing machine, pulls disgusted faces that make Yuuri laugh.

“Is Yurio there?” Viktor asks, curious.

Yuuri hums in confirmation, so Viktor asks to talk to him. 

Yuuri’s been coming to Russia for competitions since he was thirteen years old, and he’s been living in the country since May. His Russian is pretty okay by now, but Yurio talks so fast he misses most of the conversation. But he does hear Yurio mumble “Good luck at Skate America or whatever” before handing the phone back to him.

After that, dinner is mostly a quiet event. A year ago, Yuuri would have broken his back trying to make conversation with this angry, explosive teenager, but now he just enjoys the companionable silence and doesn’t chastise Yurio for giving Makkachin food where he thinks it can’t be seen. 

It’s too cold to wash dishes, but Yurio does it anyway, scrubbing with easy and practice, like always.

“I like it,” he says, shoulder moving on a jerky shrug. “I used to do it all the time with my grandpa.”

“I see,” Yuuri nods. He smiles, drying and putting away the plates and silverware.

Makkachin is waiting by the door when they get back to the living room, excitedly wagging her tail. Yuuri has been dreading her walks since September turned into October, loathe to step out into the cold again. 

Viktor and Yurio have been walking her the past couple of months, so Yurio grabs her leash and turns to him, says “I can do it by myself, you know.”

Yuuri shakes his head with a smile, touched by the gesture.

“We’ll go together, the three of us,” he says.

It’s even colder at night without the sun, even if these days it’s been just a weak excuse for warmth. Makkachin dashes into the frozen grass of the park nearby, delighted to cover herself in snow. Vicchan used to do that, too. Yuuri smiles at the memory, then records a video on his phone of Yurio chasing Makkachin around naked trees. He sends it to Viktor, who answers back with all the fifteen different heart emojis on his phone.

When they’re walking back, Makkachin leading the way, Yurio bumps his shoulder against Yuuri’s. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, either from the cold or from embarrassment at being caught showing affection. Yuuri smiles, bumps his shoulder against Yurio’s, and ruffles his hair.

Yurio _does_ hate it, mumbling and complaining until they reach the apartment.

He usually leaves after that, saying he doesn’t want to stick around while they do _  
disgusting things_. It’s his way of giving them privacy, because he doesn’t know that Yuuri and Viktor usually fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, too tired from practice to do much else.

But tonight he sits on the couch, turns on the TV and flips through the channels.

“What’s good tonight?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, sitting on the couch next to him. “We don’t watch much TV.”

“You’re useless,” he says, no trace of real heat in his voice.

Yuuri shrugs.

Eventually he settles on an American movie, something with a lot of gunshots and people trapped inside a building by bad guys. Yuuri mostly thinks all that violence is unnecessary, but Yurio falls asleep twenty minutes in, head dropping to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri smiles down at him. He wonders if this is what it’s like to have a little brother, rebellious and difficult and angry like only teenagers can be, someone you can’t help but love. Maybe he’ll ask Mari sometime soon.

He watches the movie until the bad guy falls out the window and the woman punches the reporter in the face. Yurio doesn’t stir. 

Carefully, Yuuri guides Yurio’s head down until it’s resting on the couch. He walks on tiptoes to grab a pillow and blanket from the bedroom, placing the pillow under Yurio’s golden head of hair and the draping the blanket over him.

He turns off the TV, brushes Yurio’s hair away from his face and smiles.

“Good night, Yurio,” he whispers. 

Yurio just snores.

Yuuri walks back to the bedroom, Makkachin following. He leaves the door open a crack and gets under the blankets with the dog, closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take over.


End file.
